


So Much Left Unsaid

by IamtheOther5am



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Anger, Best Friends, Broken Promises, Friendship, Gen, Love, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 14:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamtheOther5am/pseuds/IamtheOther5am
Summary: **Contains ACOWAR spoilers from the outset**Lucien and Tamlin parted ways very abruptly, and there are many difficult questions and conversations that remain up in the air. Someone needs to break the stalemate.





	So Much Left Unsaid

Guilt is a powerful emotion.

It is all consuming, like a great dark monster that suffocates the light and slowly tears the soul apart. It is a wretched thing.

I have had more than my fair share of guilt during this long life, but none that hovered over me with such relentlessness as the guilt I felt now.

Tamlin.

My best friend for as long as I could remember; I’d abandoned him. Just thinking the words left me with a hollow feeling in my stomach. He had helped me when I was desperate, he gave me a place to call home when I had nothing, and gave me a role and purpose within his court.

And after all that, I had abandoned him.

I ran away, leaving him alone to watch his court crumble around him, watch his forces desert him and his people flee. I’d turned my back and not given it a second thought in that moment.

But I’d wanted out for a long time. I had allowed too much to happen without intervening; I had allowed Feyre – my friend – to suffer… No more. I needed to atone for my mistakes.

I was as good as castrated in the Spring Court, all my responsibilities melting away until only the hollow title of Emissary remained. I yearned to be useful again. Feyre and the Night Court gave me that opportunity.

Still, in the weeks following the battle with Hybern, when I finally returned from the continent back to Velaris, I contemplated sending him a letter. I wanted to explain myself and my actions to him, hoping he would understand my reasons for leaving. But then I remembered his reaction to Feyre’s letter. I remembered the roar of the beast, the shredded curtains, the splintered furniture. I remembered the fear in the eyes of the servants, running for their lives from a High Lord who was inconsolable with rage…with grief.

So, I decided against the letter. If I was going to explain things to him, I had to look him in the eye as I spoke, as I began to repair our damaged friendship…if that was even possible.

One evening, after dinner at the townhouse, I retired to the sitting room with a book, and sat myself down on the deep cushion of a window seat. The book remained closed in my lap though, as I stared out of the window, watching raindrops scurry down the window panes.

I was so entranced by the rain and the pitter-patter on the glass, that I didn’t notice the cushion sink as Feyre sat down beside me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said in a soft, quiet voice.

I jumped a little and laughed under my breath. “You do?”

She rolled her lips and gave a small nod. “You want to go back and talk to him.” I nodded in return. “I contemplated doing that, too…at one point.”

“But you didn’t return. Not until you _had_ to.” I said, strengthening my hold on the book in my lap.

“What could I say, really? You know what he’s like. You know more than most.”

“Indeed. A few centuries by his side has taught me _many_ things.” I dropped my head and sighed. “Feyre, would you think me ungrateful if I returned to the Spring Court?”

“Are you planning on staying there, for good?” I was sure a frown creased her features.

“No.” I sighed again. “I hate saying it…or at least I _should_ , because I feel like I’m erasing all the good he did for me, but I like it here.” I looked at her again - at the true definition of friendship in her eyes - and then at the room. I had no idea how long Mor and Cassian had been sitting in the two armchairs by the fireplace, but I was glad they were here. I was glad each and every person in this house was here. Even Nesta. “I know I haven’t been here long or officially been invited, but it feels like home.”

Feyre covered my hand and squeezed gently. “This _is_ your home, Lucien, for however long you wish it to be, and no invitation is necessary, we are _all_ your family.”

“Here, here,” Mor winked at me. I gave a smile of gratitude.

“But,” Feyre continued, “if you want to go back to the Spring Court and talk to him, none of us will stand in your way.”

“You might even be able to talk some sense into that cranky bastard,” Cassian said from his chair. Mor gave him a swift kick to the shins and a glare that could probably set him on fire if she held it for long enough.

I thought for a minute. Would it actually accomplish anything? The look Tamlin had aimed at me, when I stood beside the High Lady of the Night Court wearing Illyrian fighting leathers after the battle. He knew which side I’d chosen. That look had been hatred. Disgust. Did I _want_ to go back to face that? Would the scene that greeted me on my return be one that would haunt me forever?

Just sitting here wasn’t going to achieve anything, that was for certain. “All right,” I said, shifting the book off my lap and onto the seat beside me. “No use stewing over it any longer. I will go tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Feyre smiled, giving my hand another gentle squeeze. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” I said, feeling only _slightly_ sick with nerves. “He deserves an explanation.”

“Ha!” Cassian barked. Mor leaned across and whacked him with all her might. “Ow!”

Decision made.

* * *

I winnowed to the Spring Court the next morning, landing on the outskirts of the village closest to the manor. The sight before me was horrific.

Every newly built house, every business, every blade of grass, burned and black and still smouldering. A village only just finding its feet again after years of Amarantha’s destruction, all gone. I wanted to throw up. This had been punishment from Hybern for the dead royals. Another reason for Tamlin to hate Feyre, to hate me.

I walked up the lane that would lead me to the manor, my eyes fixed on the charred ruins. I prayed to the Mother that there weren’t many lives lost here, but I wasn’t sure I could live with the knowledge either way.

Because I was a coward.

I had always been a coward, choosing to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible in the face of danger. Never standing tall and defending the people and the ideals that I valued. Coward.

I suppose today was my way of fighting against that, of proving to myself that I was strong. I wasn’t going to hide away from this scene of devastation before me, or from my friend. Not my enemy, my _friend_. I needed to remember that.

And if I couldn’t face him, how in the world would I fight another battle, literal or otherwise? If I couldn’t face Tamlin, I might as well drive an ash arrow through my heart, or go back to the Autumn Court and let my father and brothers finish me off.

So I continued on. I cut through the spring woods, following paths I had trailed countless times over the years. Paths that still wound through the tall trees, under the canopy of green leaves and beautiful flowers. Bluebells still dominated the shady spots, a swathe of splendid colour rippling in the gentle breeze. It was comforting to see that _some_ things hadn’t been destroyed by Hybern.

As I emerged from the trees and back onto the lane, I was halted in my tracks by the manor gates. They stood proudly, defiantly before me, and my eyes drifted up them like I’d never seen them before. Ten feet high and painted white, with the emblem of Spring in the middle of each one. I looked left and right, at the stone pillars holding them up. Twin beasts were frozen mid-roar on top, daring trespassers to try entering.

I gulped down my nerves and reached a hand out to grasp one of the wrought iron bars. I expected to hit a hard wall of air, or wards that would send me hurtling backwards into the dirt.

I pushed the gate.

It swung open easily, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I would’ve preferred to hit wards; at least that would’ve proved to me just how pissed Tamlin was, how much he wanted to hide away. The gates being open made me fearful, instead. Had he given up caring? Probably. Would he fight off an intruder, or was he _hoping_ for one? I honestly didn’t know.

So I stepped over the threshold and onto the vast rolling lawns of the manor. Doubt began to creep into me immediately. As the long, unkempt blades of grass brushed my thighs, it began to feel like the doubt was wrapping itself around me to pull me back, to stop me from walking through those front doors. But I persisted.  The place was silent, and it seemed that even the fountains had stopped babbling with water. Another shiver.

I came to a stop at the foot of the grand steps, and gazed upwards. Each window was dimmed, several panes shattered, wind forcing the curtains through the holes. Thin green vines crept along the white rendered walls, preparing to strangle the building.

Life had deserted this place. It had followed Feyre and I out of this land, and far away. I wasn’t sure if it would ever return. Or if Tamlin would even want it to.

I ascended the steps, my heartbeat a fast, heavy rhythm in my chest. Last time I’d walked up them I was still the Spring Court emissary, still useful, still loyal. Now I felt sick. I was sure my body was shaking, but I felt numb to it. Tamlin and I had been friends through such tragedy and joy, light and dark. It _couldn’t_ be over.  

I stepped up to the front doors that still, thankfully, hung on their hinges. Grasping a silver handle, I twisted it and opened the door.

The place was a wreck. There was no other way to put it. The walls were covered in deep, angry claw marks. All curtains were completely shredded, all furniture broken into splinters. Glass littered the floor. Feyre’s bedroom flashed before my eyes. Mother help me.

My footsteps echoed on the tiles as I inched into the entrance hall. There were no other sounds, except my breathing, which I suddenly noticed was loud, shuddering. Nervous.

I glanced right, down a hallway towards the kitchens. More vines snaked over the floor, and up the walls. If a stranger had stumbled across this place, they would’ve believed it lay empty for decades. But these were hallways I had been wandering up and down mere months ago. They had been filled with servants and sentries and conversation. I loosed a breath and stepped further into the entrance hall.

“What are you doing here?” came a voice from behind that I recognized… _just about_.

I turned around to find Tamlin staring at me from the far end of the dining room. He sat atop his golden throne – brought through from the great hall – his legs wide as he slumped against the padded velvet back. His hair was ragged and loose around his face, his clothes dishevelled. The vast dining table and its many chairs lay broken into infinite pieces before him, rotting food scattered amongst the wreckage.

“Tamlin,” I breathed, and took a step toward the broken doors.

“Stay where you are!” he commanded. He hadn’t sounded so authoritative in months… _years_ , even.

I halted. “I came back to talk to -”

“You came back to _gloat,_ ” he scoffed.

“What?” I frowned, “No, Tam, I wanted to explain why I le-”

“You left because you got a better offer. Another one of those Archeron _bitches_ turned out to be your mate,” he sneered, “and you followed her to _that place_ like a drooling, horny animal!”

“No, no.” Anger heated my bones, but I tamped it down and moved forward another step. “Tamlin, please -”

“I told you to stay there, _Lucien!_ ” His claws pushed out of his skin and gripped the curved golden arms of the throne. He drove them in an inch, before retracting them. “Disobey my order one more time, and I won’t make the mistake of letting you walk out of here again.”

He dragged his claws along the arms, and a lump rose in my throat. A part of me wanted to fall to my knees at his tone, his words. The hatred that dripped from his mouth hurt more than a thousand ash arrows ever could. I held my hands up in submission, my heart aching.

He seemed to smirk at the sadness written across my face, and settled back into his lean, this time draping a leg over the chair arm. “So it seems you picked the winning side, _old friend_. The Night Court got itself a whimpering little fox cub to pet.”

“Tam, we were _all_ on the winning side.”

“Do you keep them entertained with your fire tricks? Or are the theatrics purely for the bedroom?”

“No, just please let me expl-”

“Was this always the plan, hmm?” he asked, bouncing his leg, “To run away with Feyre to that place? To make a fool out of me and laugh about it with your winged friends, amongst the stars and the debauchery?”

“Tamlin! _Shut up!_ ” I screamed, and stormed into the dining room. He leapt to his feet, but before he could do anything I sent a stream of red hot fire towards him, drawing a line of it across his path. “Sit down and let me speak, for once!!”

He roared at me. The first time that blood-curdling sound had been aimed in my direction. My heart threw itself against my chest. I wanted to turn and run, but I shoved an end piece of the dining table away with my foot, sending it careening towards the wall, and planted myself a few feet away from his throne.

“I’m sorry,” I said, throwing my arms out wide and letting them drop. “I really, truly am.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he rumbled. The fangs of his beast form began to appear, illuminated by the fire that still rippled between us.

“I’m not sorry for leaving.” I shook my head, “I needed to see Elain, to check if she was all right after her ordeal.” He seemed to retreat inward a tiny bit at that. “But I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

“You planned this whole thing, you and that _whore_!”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “You are so full of shit, Tam. Even now, after _everything_ that has happened, you _still_ act like the injured party in all of this? Even after you - not us - _you_ made a deal with Hybern, the bastard king that _Amarantha_ answered to, just to get Feyre back!”

“She was _mine_.”

I shook my head. “No, Tam, no she wasn’t. Feyre wasn’t your prize for coming out the other side, she wasn’t a trophy to parade around, and she _wasn’t_ stolen from you. She was her own person, a _new_ person after what happened, and she was _dying_ here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he scoffed, waving me off.

“She was withering away and we never noticed. She barely ate, barely slept…she died under that damned mountain, and you know what?”

“What?” he retorted.

I pointed at him, and let the flames extinguish between us. “I think you did too.”

His eyes widened in shock. “Now who’s full of shit?”

“You weren’t the same when we came out at the end. You were possessive, angry…blind to the suffering of the woman you loved.”

“Stop it, Lucien,” he growled, extending his claws again. “Why are you bringing this up? Why drag all that back out into the open?”

“Because I _never_ did at the time!” I yelled, my face burning with anger, regret. “I pretended everything was all right, ticking along nicely. I tried to block out the sounds of her throwing up every night, and the screaming Under the Mountain, of that wyrm chasing her in the pit. The cracks of the whip across my back when Amarantha made you punish me for helping her.”

“Don’t,” my friend whispered, and I could see the tears cresting his eyes as his claws retracted back into his skin.

“All that pain and suffering we endured, and yet when the time came, I didn’t help her when it mattered the most. When you locked her in this house.” I opened my arms wide and looked around at the decay, the destruction around me. “So when I left with Feyre; yes, part of it was my need to see my mate…but the other part? I had to help my friend. I had to make up for _my_ past mistakes.”

“But you left me here with _nothing_ , Lucien!”

“You still had your High Priestess,” I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if anything I’d said had got through to him.

“I wanted Feyre.” He shuffled in his seat. “I didn’t want Ianthe.”

“Neither did I, but I endured her, for _you_.”

“I know,” he mumbled, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

I stepped closer. “I did what my High Lord couldn’t and wouldn’t do, and after that…she was _relentless_. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, so each time she invited herself to my room, I endured her again and again…and again.”

He looked at me, studied me and my words, and I realised that a tear had drifted down my cheek. I hastily wiped it away and said, “Did she ever tell you that?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have taken it seriously anyway,” I snapped, feeling my sadness ebb towards anger.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Lucien?”

“You were blind to Ianthe. Every damn word that came out of her mouth was laced with cruelty and lies, yet the glorious High Lord of Spring accepted it without question.” I pointed at him, my hand shaking. I willed it to steady. “You believed all the shit she fed you, and it made you impossible to reason with.”

He placed both feet on the ground and sat up straight, his eyes now boring into me. “What are you trying to say to me?”

I pulled my shoulders back. “You wouldn’t listen. Ever.”

“You didn’t exactly state your case very clearly, _old friend_ ,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“How could I when you or Ianthe shut me down every single time? Hmm?” He leaned forward on that pretentious throne and I felt my guilt and sadness begin to bubble up. “Every time I tried to warn you about her, or Hybern, or the dangers of letting the wall come down, you turned your back on me!”

“I _never_ turned my back on you!” he roared, and pushed up from the throne. His chest heaved as he looked down on me. “I was the one who warned you about your relationship with that faerie! I took you in when it all came crashing down and you had _nothing!_ And I protected you when your brothers came looking for an easy kill! _”_

I gulped. “I wondered when you’d throw that back in my face, Tam.”

“I did those things because you are… _were_ my friend, and you needed help.” He stepped off the dias and stalked towards me. “And I would’ve done them a thousand times over, too, so don’t you _dare_ tell me I turned my back!”

“Well if we’re playing that game, remember this?” I growled, and pointed to my metal eye. The machinery whirred faintly in my head. “I got that being your messenger boy. My reward for doing your begging and pleading, or did you forget?”

“How could I? It’s been staring back at me for the past fifty years!” He laughed under his breath, and I felt my guilt give way.

I felt it drop, like a stone falling from a bridge. The foundations of our friendship were crumbling just like this manor, and in that moment I wasn’t sure I even cared anymore. We had been friends. True friends. We had gone on adventures together, and got drunk together and…

And none of that meant a damn thing.

He looked me up and down with a snarl and then began to turn away.

“Don’t walk away, Tamlin.”

He ignored me, and shoved past.

“Look at me!” I shouted, and grabbed his arm.

“Why? _Why?!_ ” he snapped, as I yanked him round. His face was borderline feral, but his eyes were entirely fae, and desperately sad. “The last time I looked at you, you were wearing _their_ armour, _their_ emblem! You picked your side, Lucien!”

“It wasn’t a question of picking sides, but you brought this upon yourself, Tam! You pushed us all away! Even Alis was forced to flee this place, for the sake of her boys!”  

“You chose Feyre, and Rhys, and your _mate_ , and left me here to pick up the pieces!”

“Feyre gave you a _million_ opportunities to do the right thing, just like she did for me. _I_ took my chance. _You_ didn’t. The consequences were all avoidable.”

He tried to pull his arm away, but I held my grip, sending a wave of heat to his arm to hold him in place. He looked down at my hand. “Glad to see you’re finally turning into your father.”

“Ditto.”

“Fuck you, Lucien.”

“Nice.” I dropped my head. This hadn’t gone to plan at all.

A sigh escaped my lips, before I spoke, “Enough. I can’t do this anymore. Believe it or not, I _never_ meant for any of this to happen. For you to end up by yourself, isolated.”

“So you came back out of guilt, is that it?”

“I hoped that we could talk about this and start to move on,” I frowned, clutching his arm, “I don’t want this to be our end.”

“Too bad,” he gulped. With that, I withdrew my power and he shirked me off. “You’re not my emissary anymore, so you have no need to be here, and I have no need to listen to you.” He took a step backwards through the debris, and thumbed over his shoulder, “Get the hell out of my court, and _don’t_ come back.”

Without saying another word, he turned his back on me and headed for the doorway. My shoulders dropped, and I looked down at my hands, turning them over so my palms were facing up; scorched with heat. Normally I would absorb my power right back into myself leaving no trace, but not today. I was hurting inside and out. My body wanted me to feel this pain, this raging, crushing pain in every possible way.

I felt the burn of it, seeing the state of the room, the furniture. A crack had appeared in the far corner, and my stomach dropped.  

Choking back tears, I returned my focus to him, just as he crossed the threshold into the entrance hall. My voice echoed in the cavernous space. “What happened to this place, Tamlin.”

He paused, and dropped his head.

“I’ve been gone for a few months and yet…” I glanced around me, at the vines and the rotting food and the flies. “The house looks like it’s been abandoned for -”

“Fifty years?” he said, cutting me off. He turned back to me and I nodded. All of the tension, the anger seemed to eke out of him in that moment. He threw his arms out in resignation. “Everything was…gone.” That voice was the quietest I’d ever heard it. “My armies fled, my people were dying in the streets…Feyre had left. And to _really_ stick the knife in, she’d taken you with her. My oldest and greatest friend.”

The blackness of my guilt returned. Cautiously, I inched closer.

He glanced up at the ceiling, and the light reflected in his watery eyes. He released a heavy sigh and slumped against the door frame. “After all that fighting, all that loss…” He pointed at my metal eye, then shrugged. “In the end it was all for nothing. Amarantha won.”

“No, Tam,” I whispered, and moved closer still. “You _can’t_ believe that’s true.”

He laughed a sad, pitiful laugh. “It _is._ And so, I used my magic to let it all fester as if I’d never put up a fight. As if I had gone Under the Mountain with that bitch fifty years ago, and left this place to rack and ruin.”

I scanned the room again as I came to a stop beside him. It was true. The wallpaper on the walls was faded, peeling in places. The candles in the chandeliers were stubs, covered in dust. This house had become his mausoleum. “Feyre survived. Whether she’s with you, or in the north, she _lives_. Be thankful for that.”

“I am,” he murmured. “I am.” He reached out, and I felt my body tense, but he placed a hand on my shoulder and look at me. Not with hatred, only regret. “I’m only sad that it ended the way it did.”

“As am I,” I whispered, and watched as he dropped his head to stare at the floor. I reached out to him, hesitantly placing my hand on his shoulder, and said, “But we _all_ survived, and isn’t that the main thing? Thanks in no small part to _you_ , by the way.”

He waved me off. “Don’t coddle me, Lucien.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, a hint of a smile creeping onto my face. “I’m serious; you dragged my father and his court kicking and screaming into battle, if I’ve heard right. That was no small feat, old friend.”

He lifted his gaze to me, and I was heartened to see that his tears had faded. “He really did need to be dragged, too, you should’ve seen him.”

“I wish I’d been there.”

“I had my claws round his throat at one point.”

“Now I _really_ wish I’d been there!” A laugh erupted from me, and as I doubled over with tears running down my cheeks, I realised he was laughing too. Real, heartfelt laughter. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d truly had that.

Relief and sadness washed over me; relief that we seemed to be no longer in danger of clawing or burning each other to death, but sad for the way our friendship felt different, somehow. Perhaps that might be a good thing in the end - a way to move on from the past by changing the relationship - but…I was still sad, and there were things still unsaid.

But I thought today was enough. I’d said my piece, and wouldn’t push my luck trying to get something out of my stubborn old friend.

So I took a step back from him and gave a small smile. “Thank you for seeing me, Tam. I’ll get out of your way now.”

He nodded. “All right. Back to the Night Court?” This time his words weren’t tinged with bitterness or anger, only pure curiosity.

“Yes.”

“I hope they are treating you well, old friend.”

“They are. And they are all very grateful for what you did, Tam.”

He laughed under his breath, a small sliver of that bitterness revealing itself. “For playing both sides, you mean?”

I shrugged. “Whatever your methods, you came through in the end. That’s all that matters.”

He nodded slowly, before pressing his head back against the door frame and shoving both hands into his trouser pockets. He narrowed his eyes and studied me, very closely. “You’re happy, Lucien, I can see that. And I’m glad of it.”

“Thank you. The Night Court is my home now, because it’s where Elain is…but I still consider Spring my -”

“Don’t,” he whispered, and held a hand up, “You don’t need to say things to make me feel better. Just let me be happy for you, all right?”

I rolled my lips and nodded. “All right.”

Shadows flickered in the entrance hall, reminding me that I should leave now, or risk pushing him too far, too soon. We were speaking again now, that was the most important thing, and I wouldn’t feel sick with nerves at the thought of coming back here.

I turned and headed for the front doors, the tap of my boots on the tiled floor the only sound. Just as I reached the door, a wave of some emotion I hadn’t felt in long time came over me.

“I am sorry, Lucien,” Tamlin suddenly said from his place against the dining room doorway.

I turned around.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you, for the position I put you in with your loyalties…with Ianthe. You are the only real friend I have left.”

I smiled over my shoulder. “I always will be your friend, Tamlin. Always.”

“Thank you.” He began fidgeting with his hands, as if trying to unscramble the words from his mind. He took one step forward, then stopped. Afraid, somehow. “Please, tell Feyre how sorry I am for everything that came after…after we were happy. That’s all I want now; happiness for her…for you all.”

“I will, of course. She wishes you well, too.”

He smiled at me. It was timid, almost childlike really, but it was a smile nonetheless, and my heart was warmed by this farewell. And that’s all it was; a goodbye for now.

Time. That’s what he needed. A little bit of time to heal himself, to truly banish the memories of Amarantha and all the damage she had caused. He would let Feyre go now, willingly, and I knew she would be pleased by that. And who knows, perhaps one day he’d find his mate, and he’d know true happiness.

I grasped the edge of the open door and began to walk out, catching sight of the vines and the crumbling walls. I turned back one last time and said, “Please live, Tamlin. Don’t let this house entomb you, no matter what. Breathe new life into these walls and just…live. Will you do that?”

One simple nod of acknowledgement came my way. “I will try.”

With that, I left. I hurried down the grand steps and back onto the tall grass of the lawn. As I made my way back towards the gates, that unfamiliar emotion suddenly became clear; hope. I had hope for all of our futures. For me, Tamlin, Elain, Feyre, Rhys… For Cassian and Nesta, and Azriel, Mor, and Amren. We had all gone to the very edge of existence fighting, all willing to die for freedom, and we had all survived.

Now, we could look forward, and that was incredible.

I would come back to the Spring Court soon, I had no doubt. Then the slow rebuilding of our friendship would truly begin. And something told me that the next time I came, the grass would be cut, the windows repaired, the vines gone.

Tamlin would be all right. We all would.    


End file.
